


I Know When I'm Goin' Home

by excapricious



Category: Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Caretaking, Cleaning, Conversations, Cooking, Domesticity, Drinking, Emotions, Feelings, Fighting, Flu, Fluff, Haircuts, Hugs, Kisses, Laundry, Love, M/M, Missing, Non-Explicit Sex, Stress, Summer, Traveling, cuteness, happy boys, sads, slices of life, stubborn boys, tags will be added to, walks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-12-08 10:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11644914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excapricious/pseuds/excapricious
Summary: Fluffy, domestic Rafael x Daveed shorts/vignettes.





	1. polish me until i glow clean

Daveed smells like lemon and disinfectant, busy but Rafael is attention-starved and dirtying the freshly-scrubbed counter as he sighs against it. Daveed has it in his head that he's cleaning the loft today, in old, paint-stained overalls (there's a white Rafael-sized handprint on the ass of them from when they painted the kitchen cabinets) with a bandana tied round his head. Rafael teases him for looking like a farmer, keeping the way that it makes his heart swell with affection inside. 

Daveed is on his knees to wipe down the door of the oven, whistling a little as he works. Rafael recognizes the melody of an old clipping. song, one of the first that Daveed showed him, chewing his lip expectantly as Rafael let the music wash him away into peace. There's Daveed’s open can of coconut water sitting on the counter, and Rafael keeps sneaking sips like a kid tastes alcohol, not liking the flavor as much as the allure. He’d offered to help Daveed and was relieved when he said, laughing, that Rafael would just fuck up the vacuuming and swiffering and that it would save them both time if Daveed did it himself. Rafael swatted him and made himself useful by cooking up an omelette with cheese and sausage (and none of the scary-looking greens that Daveed has taking up the crisper drawers in the fridge) and promptly falling asleep again in the bend of the sectional couch. And now he's awake, and Daveed is still cleaning and humming, and Rafael is attention-starved like a roped-up dog that yearns for human touch. 

“Daveed…” Rafael whines, slumped against the granite of the kitchen island. “I miss you.” He pouts when Daveed turns, batting his lashes. 

“I'm right here, idiot.” Daveed is grinning, affectionate. 

“Yeah, but…” Rafael sighs through his nose, melodramatic. “You aren't paying attention to me.”

“Come here.” Daveed stands, puts down his cleaning rag, pushes away his work for the boy who needs and pines and gets lonely even in the same room as somebody else. Rafael pads across the hardwood into the safe haven of Daveed’s arms, buries his head in the soft crook between his neck and his shoulder. He breathes in the clean, vaguely chemical smell and pulls away to retie Daveed’s bandana with deft fingers. 

“Better?” Daveed asks, eyes smiling down at Rafael. 

“Better.” Rafael agrees, stepping over the fallen mop to fill the kettle with water from the sink. Daveed comes up behind him as he waits for the water to bubble to the top, stoops to place a kiss on his shoulder. Rafael smiles at him as he listens for the spark of the stovetop burner getting hot, the sizzle of the wet kettle touching it. He makes coffee and settles back at the island with a steaming mug that's too hot to touch his lips to. 

“Miss you.”


	2. slip summer down his throat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope y'all are liking this!

Rafael tans like a berry over-ripens in the sun, that's what Daveed says when he's being all poetic and plunking one, two, three ice cubes into a vodka tonic. He's shirtless and relaxed into himself, skin shiny with a film of California-summer sweat and shorts riding low on his hips. He's all loose and laughing, gracing a hand across Rafael’s sun-sore shoulder as he sets the drink on the table next to him. Rafael nudges Daveed in the ribs, and when he looks down smiling and expectant, presses a kiss to the slightly paler strip of skin that sits just above his waistband. Daveed makes a happy noise and twists away, ticklish and tugging on Rafael’s heart. 

The drink is cold and easy to down, the sweating glass welcome against Rafael’s dry lips. Daveed has taken to dabbing Vaseline on them while Rafael lays in bed on his phone or makes coffee in the mornings, but he has the habit of licking his lips and they stay desert-dry. 

“Pass that here, Ra.” Daveed has settled into the patio chair next to Rafa, pulling it back into recline and putting his feet up. The sun makes him glow good where it strips across his face and chest. Rafael hands him the glass, fingers brushing against Daveed’s at the handoff. Daveed takes a swig, leans over to kiss Rafael with a vodka-soaked mouth. It's too hot for the contact yet Rafael still craves it, pressing in until Daveed pulls away with a grin and holds the tonic to Rafael’s mouth. He takes a sip as Daveed tilts the glass up, feeding Rafael splashes of alcohol like he's an overgrown baby bird. 

“It's hot.” Rafael says when Daveed takes the drink away to down the last few sips himself. Daveed laughs from his belly because Rafael complaining about the heat is about as rare as the heat itself in the Oakland July. 

“You're whiny.” Daveed teases, sliding his sunglasses (RayBans, a Rafael impulse buy for him last Christmas: “But it's winter, Cash.” “The sun always comes back around, Diggs.”) down from the top of his head to his nose with a flick of a finger. 

“Maybe I wouldn't be if you didn't finish my drink.” Rafael retorts, not even attempted sass in his voice to back up the statement. 

“I made it for you!” Daveed says, hitting Rafael on the arm with the back of his hand. Rafael is too hot and relaxed-through with alcohol and sun to respond, turning his head to lazily half-smile instead. 

Daveed gets up to pour another anyways, the plink, plink, plink of the ice cubes easing Rafael’s eyes shut. He jolts when he feels a freezing ring of glass against his stomach, Daveed laughing above him. Vodka sips, vodka kiss, vodka summer.


	3. break the lock, snap the key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo you guys can comment suggestions for more chapters to come!

They haven't been fighting, not really, but tensions have been ratcheting up until Rafael feels like a rubber band that might snap if someone moves the wrong way. It doesn't help that things in the loft keep breaking, on their own accord, and that Daveed is convinced that he can fix everything from the toaster (it's little door is hanging on by a single loose nail and some duct tape) to the washing machine (which began grumbling and spitting water across the laundry room floor earlier as Rafael attempted to separate a load of whites and darks) just because he watched a handful of YouTube videos. 

“Let me just call a plumber, okay, Daveed?” They're both irritable and the air in the already-cramped laundry room is thick and heavy, pressing on Rafael’s chest. Daveed is spread-eagled on the concrete floor trying to reach something at the back of the washer as Rafael studies the (entirely unhelpful) manual in his lap. “Or, we can buy a new one. Eleven hundred bucks isn't going to put us out on the street anymore.”

“Just.” Daveed pants, stretching to grab at a black wire that connects into the white wall. “Let me figure this out.” His tone feels sticky when it hits Rafa square in the eyes. He curls up inside himself a little whenever Daveed tells him off. It doesn't happen often, but it makes Rafael’s insides feel grimy nonetheless. 

“That's not the right wire.” He says, quiet and to the manual. Daveed gives this long, loud sigh as he throws a hand up, like it's Rafael’s fault that all the wires look the same and that he didn't think he'd have to pay attention to what the manual says. Daveed pushes himself up into a sitting position and grabs the manual from Rafael’s lap, scanning it. 

“What the fuck,” he says, frustration simmering off his voice, “none of this makes any sense.”

“Which is why we should call someone. You know, who does this for a living.” Rafael knows he sounds snarky, knows he's glaring a little bit. Daveed looks up at him, prickling. 

“I think I've got it from here.” It's like a slap in the face, across the back of his head. Rafael stands, trying not to tear up or yell or throw something at Daveed’s stupid, pretty head. 

“Alright.” He slogs to the kitchen and makes a sandwich angrily (because yes, you can make a sandwich angrily- it's all in the force with which you slap the toppings into the bread) and sinks down into the couch. Whatever, honestly. If Daveed doesn't need him, he's perfectly content watching reruns of Friends and eating his slightly soggy with mustard sandwich. They're better when Daveed makes them, he thinks. Whatever. 

He doesn't look at Daveed when he walks out from the laundry room, entertainingly wet with washing machine water. 

“I think I got it.” Rafael nods at the TV, not ready to do the mature thing and forgive. Daveed sighs and sinks into the couch next to him, putting his feet up on the table. Rafael still doesn't look at him, keeps his eyes trained ahead. He's a pretty fucking prolific ignorer, if the situation calls for it. 

“Hey,” Daveed says finally. “I’m sorry. I was frustrated.” But Rafael is also quick to go soft for Daveed, especially when Daveed is grabbing his hand and kissing it. Rafael squeezes back, shoots Daveed a smile. 

Daveed does finally agree to call a plumber when water begins seeping from the laundry room into the kitchen.


	4. make me pretty and make me yours

Daveed sits on the bathroom counter behind where Rafael stands with bare feet against tile, thighs holding him still and steady around the hips. His hands always sort of amaze Rafa, how gentle he is with the same fingers that hold a mic and build IKEA furniture and flip pancakes in a hot skillet. They're in Rafael’s hair, snipping at strands with the black fabric scissors that they keep in the junk drawer to the left. 

“Not too short.” Rafael reminds him, eyes still closed as he melts into Daveed's touch. Daveed has cut his hair for ages, almost as long as Rafael can remember. He used to buzz it every few weeks, next to the outlet in the dingy kitchen of the too-small, too-full apartment they had in the Getback days. Rafael would sit criss-cross in front and watch the blonde shards of hair flutter to the ground around them as Daveed ran the razor across his head with practiced deftness. 

“I know.” Daveed replies, voice soft. Snip, snip, snip of scissors, trimming the sides close and leaving the top long enough to swoop over the way Rafael likes it. Daveed sprays something cold into Rafa’s hair, dusting the back of his neck with a laugh. He fancies himself quite the stylist, has an impressive collection of mousses and sprays built up over the years. This one smells overwhelming like Daveed, all minty and spicy with that underlying tang of something citrus-sweet. 

Rafael hears the clatter of the scissors being set down on the countertop, and is taken by surprise when Daveed wraps his arms around his shoulders in a squeeze. He laughs, turns his head to press it into Daveed’s where it rests on Rafa’s shoulder. He's warm, cheek soft against Rafael’s forehead. 

“What's this for?” Rafa asks. He's hungry, ready for the eggs and biscuits from a can that he promised Daveed after the haircut, and relaxed in Daveed’s arms. 

“Just wanted to hug you.” Daveed answers, places a kiss on Rafael’s head before he detangles from him and picks up the scissors again. 

“Almost done.” He murmurs, snipping three, four times in quick succession and spinning Rafa around by the shoulders to get a look at him. 

“How'd you do?” Rafael asks, teasing because he knows it's perfect like it always is. 

“Well…” Daveed crinkles his forehead, wincing. Rafael's eyes go wide as his hands fly to his head, feeling for any obvious mishaps that'll mean hats for a month and a half. 

“Diggs! If you fucked up my hair, I swear to god-” Daveed is laughing, pulling panicking Rafael into a hug. 

“I'm messing with you, dumbass.” Rafael could punch him, he really could, but kisses him on the mouth instead. His hair does look great.


	5. the action of missing sustains him

“I don't want you to leave.” Rafael is sitting in the center of the bed, the corner of Daveed’s half-filled suitcase digging into his calf. He thinks that he could curl up in there, maybe just fit so that Daveed could cart him off to New York in his roller bag. Daveed tosses a balled-up shirt into the suitcase from his place on the floor near the laundry pile, and Rafael takes it out to fold it. His hands are trembling, a little white-knuckled. 

“Ah, Rafa…” Daveed just sounds tired, and Rafael feels a stab of guilt for adding to his stress by going all sad and gooey on him six hours before he has to board a 5:30 am plane. Rafa draws his knees to his chest and takes a deep belly breath, eyes squeezing closed before he cries. 

“You've been so busy.” He says, childish selfishness edging into his voice even as he wills it away. Daveed sighs, runs a hand through his hair as he stacks black and grey boxers up on the floor. 

“Yeah, I know. I know. I'm sorry, Raf.” Daveed should go to bed, but Rafael can't bear to suggest it. If he sleeps, the next time Rafa sees him will be at four the next morning when he's pressing a harried kiss to his cheek and rushing out the door to a waiting Uber. Which is a corporate dung hole of a business, but awfully convenient for these two, three time a month airport trips at hours that Rafael couldn't be trusted on the road. 

“Just. I hate it when you're gone.” Rafa's making it about himself again, he knows he is but he can't snap out of it. The way he misses Daveed, lays awake in the center of their bed when he's away… he can't. 

“I know.” Daveed’s shoulders stutter when he breathes, and Rafael slides off the bed to lean into him on the floor. Head on his shoulder, arms round his chest like if he holds tight enough Daveed won't ever have to go. 

“We should go to Hawaii.” Rafael says softly. “Catch a different plane tomorrow morning, get some floral shirts, the works, y’know? Leis and shit. We can go surfing, eat fish, maybe catch a luau. Those dances people do on the hot coals…” Rafael is getting animated, hands carving out the scenes in the air. Daveed smiles at him, but it's sad, and it sends Rafael crashing back down to earth. They aren't going to Hawaii. Daveed will be in New York tomorrow at this time, and Rafael will be here. 

“Someday, Rafa. Someday soon, okay?” Rafael nods and stares at the ceiling, telling the tears pricking at his eyes to fuck right on off. Daveed pats his shoulder and stands, dropping the last of his clothes into his suitcase. “Let's sleep, okay?”

Rafael is on the floor, feeling too small for this world, and Daveed walks back over to help him up. Wraps him in a tight hug where Rafael hurriedly dries his eyes on Daveed’s shoulder. 

“I'm coming back.” Daveed says. “I'm coming back soon.” 

“I know.” Rafael whispers, because it's all he can manage.


	6. as blue and deep as the sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is v short! i'll try to post another soon- i just got back from a vacation so i'll be trying to catch up!

They take lazy, long walks in the haze of the mornings and evenings, when summer warmth isn't rising off the concrete. Daveed holds Soccer’s leash and Rafa’s hand, points out flowers and trees like they're treasures. Rafael picks the flowers for him, laughs when he puts them in his hair. Daveed ringed in a halo of yellow and pink, looking soft and whole. Rafa puts a daisy in Soccer’s collar. The dog barks. They feel like a family, and Rafael tells Daveed so. 

“We are a family.” They speak quiet, like they might disturb the very air of the blooming back roads. 

“Yeah.” Rafa smiles at the cerulean sky. Cerulean. Daveed teases him because “it's never just blue with Rafa, no.” Their bedroom is cornflower and the California sea is sapphire and the August sky is cerulean, shot with skittering white clouds. “We should start sending out holiday cards. Y’know, posed ones, with matching sweaters.” Rafael laughs at the image, at what in the hell their friends would think if they received one of those. 

“Always with the brilliant ideas, Cash.” 

“You know I can't resist a man in knitwear.”

“You can't resist me in anything.” Daveed says, swinging Rafael’s arm up to the sky. (Cerulean sky.) 

“Bastard.” They walk, and talk, and it's routine. It's home. Rafael wonders what people on the streets think when they see them together, holding hands. They don't fit the stereotype, either of them, he doesn't think. And he wonders what people think. It used to bother him, a lot a lot. The looks, the glances people share when they pass them. He'd cry to Daveed about it, and Daveed, bless his heart through and through, would hold him and whisper that it was okay until it did feel okay. And it feels okay now. Rafa isn't scared to hold Daveed’s hand. And he likes this, he really likes feeling like a family. 

“Wanna go home?” Daveed asks, voice like butter and honey and candy. 

“Uh huh.” Rafa is hungry, and he'll make eggs when they're back at the loft. Daveed's eggs always end up with shells in them, no matter how well Rafa strains them out of the bowl while he isn't looking. But Rafael makes good eggs, and Daveed is good company. The best. He takes his hand. “Let's go."


	7. closest thing to god i've felt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter involves sex- it's more implied than explicitly stated but just thought i'd let y'all know!

Daveed bends Rafael in half, leans over him to wipe his face with a warm hand, warm and soft and comfortably familiar to the touch. 

“You alright?” Voice cracks, feels like water washing Rafael clean. He wasn't baptized- there aren't baby photos of him crying and sopping in a white outfit. Wasn't baptized but he's stood under the hot spray of a shower with Daveed’s hands rubbing shampoo over his scalp, all the way to his widows peak. Is it sacrilege to say it's similar?

“Good, I'm good.” Rafael gets his arms up around Daveed's neck, pulls him in close, close, close as he can. He wants to feel Daveed on, with, in every inch of him. Needs it. “Need you.” 

Rafael is crying a little, just a little, and he knows it doesn't worry Daveed anymore. It worried him the first time, the next and the next, but when Rafael is being loved this wholly, this hard, it's all he can do. Daveed presses his lips to the soft, thin skin under Rafael’s eyes. Rafael catches him in a kiss, tastes the salt on his lips. 

“I'm good, I'm good, I'm good.” Daveed gets a hand in Rafael's hair, tugs at it gentle like the wind. 

“You're the best,” Rafael has arms and legs wrapped around Daveed, tethering them together. He's so warm, so stone-sturdy and satin-soft. “best thing in my life, Rafa, you are.” Daveed nestles his head in the crook of Rafael’s shoulder. Places a kiss on the bone that rises from it. Rafael sniffs, hot tears falling in Daveed’s head of hair. Loves him.

Rafael smoked cigarettes after sex, until Daveed. When the girl was asleep on the far side of the bed, he’d sneak out the back door, feet on the back porch, and fumble with a lighter in the dark. That was then. Rafael closes his lips on the skin at the base of Daveed’s neck. Holds him tighter. 

“Diggs, Diggs.” Rafael can't find the words for what he means, but Daveed knows. Always been able to read each other like clocks, the pair of them. 

“Yeah,” Daveed whispers, pulls at Rafael’s hair. “yes.” 

Just the two of them, close enough to start a war. It begins and ends like this, curled together between the white cotton sheets that Rafael insisted they buy, the ones printed with tiny navy stars and moons. There's a moon, crescent, falling over Daveed’s shoulder, and Rafael bites down on it, fabric and salt in his mouth. There's fire in his belly, and Daveed is the oxygen that fuels it, the oxygen that sustains his very being. 

Daveed rakes nails into Rafael’s back. He leaves him mapped, marked with constellations like the ones on the sheets. Rafael breathes him in through his nose, frees his mouth to breathe him in with their tongues together. He's good. Good.


	8. you know i got you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a vent-y chapter, cause it's been the kind of day! I hope you all enjoy <3

It's one of those days, one of those days where four PM hits and Rafael starts feeling cold and drawn into himself and beaten down. They've been traveling, nonstop, across the country and back again. A night or two in Oakland, dinner with Rafael's mom, a few drinks with their high school friends. Back to New York, an interview for Daveed, dancing with Jasmine and Anthony, BARS lab for Rafa to run. It's constant, and it's exhausting, and it hollows Rafael's bones and puts craters beneath his eyes. 

It goes and goes and goes, and Rafael talks Daveed down from two bouts of panic in three weeks, holds him on the tiled floor of hotel bathrooms. And they manage, like a boat that almost capsizes on the crest of each wave but pulls up just before the ocean takes it. It's like that. They manage, and sometimes managing looks like the pad of Daveed's thumb wet with Rafael's tears as he wipes them away. Sometimes managing looks like a pocket-sized bottle of vodka shared between them in the airport bathroom before boarding the third plane of the week. Sometimes managing doesn't look very much like managing at all. Sometimes it looks like this.

Four PM, in a hotel bed that smells too clinical, white comforter pulled up to overgrown stubble on his chin. And Daveed isn't here, he's picking up a suit because there's a dinner to go to. Rafael can't even place the event that warrants a dinner, just knows that all these parties mean staying across the room from Daveed, barely speaking to him to hold up the facade that they give to the public. As if Daveed wasn't curled around Rafael the night before, wasn't saying his name like a curse and dragging nails over the skin of his back. So Daveed is gone, and Rafael _feels _gone, for lack of a better word to touch the roiling wrongness inside of him. He's stretched so thinly, like wet tissue paper that's a breath away from tearing.__

__When Daveed comes back he finds Rafael in the bed, pulled tight into the fetal position. He lays down next to him and wraps him in his arms, and they don't speak because there isn't much to say. Because Daveed has already apologized a thousand times for the way everything in his life is. And Rafael has already said, a thousand times, that he doesn't mind. And he doesn't, not usually._ _

__They're silent until Rafael starts sniffling, starts apologizing for it, and Daveed is murmuring _" _it's okay, it's okay _" _until the words lose meaning.___ _ __

____They're managing._ _ _ _

____At dinner, Rafael busies himself with a loose thread on his napkin and with talking to Oak, and whenever he glances towards Daveed, he's looking first._ _ _ _

____They shower, later, and Daveed washes Rafael's hair and wipes his face with the hands that hold him together. And the wave still hasn't managed to take them down, not this time._ _ _ _


	9. slow it down, lay me down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even if they never date irl I really do think these two are soulmates.

Daveed’s stubborn, loathe to admit anything is wrong with him, so Rafa has to trap him in bed by sitting on him long enough to call Anthony and tell him no, thanks, we won’t be coming today because Diggs is sick and being a little bitch about it. This earns him a knee in the back which sends him tumbling off to the other side of the bed, but Daveed is so watery-eyed and sniffly that Rafael accepts the torment as a piece of his civic duty of keeping Daveed at home, laying down. 

“I’m _fine_.” Daveed grumbles, and it’s so weakly caustic that Rafa snorts as he shuffles back into his spot under the flannel sheets and against Daveed’s side. They’ve shared germs for long enough that he isn’t worried about getting the cold, and, anyways, wouldn’t really mind being laid up in bed together for a day or two. 

“You’re not fine, asshole.” Rafa says to Daveed’s sweater-clad shoulder (he woke up shivering with fevered chills), and it’s more affectionate that anything. “You ain’t getting anyone sick at brunch.” Daveed groans but softens into Rafa’s touch. Rafa lays a hand on his forehead, struggles to tell if he’s warmer than usual but likes how marital it feels to check Daveed’s temperature and brush the hair back from his face. Daveed smiles at him like he’s trying not to, and Rafa lays back down on his chest, triumphant at eliciting that look from his stubborn ox of a man. 

“Don’t wanna get you sick either, though.” Daveed’s voice is scratchy, reminds Rafa of all the times he’d lose his voice after his eighth performance of Hamilton a week, how Rafa would make tea with honey and lemon and force throat drops and vocal rest on him. 

“Man, shut up. Let me take care of you.” He can feel Daveed breathe, in and out and in and out. 

“Thank you, Ra.” Rafael feels a warm rush of tenderness start in his belly and spread to his fingertips, and it makes him shiver with a disbelief that he hasn’t gotten over in all their years. Daveed’s radiant, even with sick-sallow skin. He makes Rafael want to weep.

Rafa, glossy eyed, pushes his fingers between the buttons of Daveed’s sweater to find the strip of skin where his shirt has raised, radiating heat. 

“You’ve got a fever.” Rafa never had to take care of anyone before Daveed, never had to. Never cared about someone like this. 

“Don’t worry, though.” Daveed says, comforts, because they both know Rafa worries even if he pretends not to. “I’ll be okay.”

“Go to sleep.” Rafa says, says instead of crying or kissing his disease-ridden mouth. He gets sick anyways, the next day, but it’s alright. He doesn’t mind


End file.
